


two a.m. morning sun

by BurningFairytales



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Vulcan Kissing, drunk!jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningFairytales/pseuds/BurningFairytales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did anyone ever tell you how sexy you look in those robes?"<br/>Because a drunk Jim is surprisingly insightful. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two a.m. morning sun

It all started with a knock on his hotel room door.

Spock had not expected any visitors, especially not this late – on Vulcan it had not been customary for people to visit each other at night, and, to his understanding, neither was it for humans or the inhabitants of the planet on which they were currently spending their shore leave.

(In fact, Spock had not expected to be beamed down for shore leave at all; he had planned to stay behind and work on those reports the Captain was supposed to already have filed a week ago, but Jim was surprisingly convincing. If, of course, by ‘convincing’ you meant ‘frustratingly illogical’.

Spock was certain that denying an order of taking shore leave – an order that was questionable at best – could not be seen as insubordination. But that was a different story.)

He contemplated ignoring the knock, for he had been meditating, but his visitor was persistent, so, to make sure there was no emergency, Spock stood up, smoothed out the creases in his robe, and opened the door.

Which, of course, brought him face to face with a very drunk Kirk.

“Spockkkk!” he slurred, swaying a little. “I missed you at the party! There was one, you know. A party. Where were you?” The Captain frowned, and stepped past Spock into the room. “Don’t tell me you were working. ‘Cause I remember ordering you to relax.”

“Captain.” Spock said in greeting. He shut the door. “You are inebriated.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jim chirped, cheerfully. He swayed again, dangerously, and Spock took his arm in support. He led him to the bed, sat him down and went to retrieve a glass of water.

When he came back, Jim was sprawled across the mattress, but he raised his head when he heard Spock return. “Did you know about the party?”

“Yes. You mentioned it during dinner.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

Jim appeared to contemplate this. Then, with a shake of his head that seemed to indicate he did not remember this, but also did not care, he went on: “Well, it was awesome. You should’ve been there! I mean, okay, it might not’ve been your thing; you don’t strike me as a party kinda guy. But it was epic. Scotty and Sulu got Chekov drunk, which, by the way, took longer than I thought it would. I mean, kid’s eighteen, ya know? But after Scotty agreed to give up on the whisky, and Sulu got Bones to break out a bottle of Romulan ale, he was pretty wasted.” Jim grinned then, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Started singing some sort of Russian folk songs. It was beautiful. I think they recorded the whole thing. You gotta… gotta ask ‘em tomorrow. To show you. It was epic.” He added, concluding his story.

“I do not think Ensign Chekov will appreciate that. Also, do I need to remind you that Romulan ale is a banned substance according to Federation laws-“

“Not for medical purposes it’s not.” Kirk chirped in. “And I assure you, Chekov was in need of some medical assistance. Looked really sick, the poor guy.”

“While I do not see a reason to disagree with your statement, Captain, it would not be wise to let those recordings go public, lest the Federation finds out about the Ensign’s… illness, and deems him unfit for duty.”

Jim frowned at this. It took him a while to answer, and then his incredibly educated reply was “nah.”

This was followed by silence. Spock took the opportunity to inquire as to the reason Jim had come to his quarters.

“Well, ‘cause the party was pretty much over.”

“Yes, but I fail to see your reasoning for choosing to come to my quarters over going to your own and rest.”

Jim stared at him blankly. Spock decided (albeit with fondness) that a drunk Jim was even more exasperating than the one he dealt with on a daily basis.

“I mean to ask-“ he repeated, and then took a moment to remind himself to put it as simply as possible, “-why you came here instead of your own room.”

“Ah!” Jim exclaimed, and sounded almost smug for having understood. Spock supressed a sigh. “’Cause I wanted to tell you! You shouldn’t miss out on all the fun.”

“While I… appreciate your consideration, I think it would be best if you rested, sir.”

“Aw, don’t ‘sir’ me now, Spock! ‘m not on duty. Not even in uniform. ’s Jim.”

“Jim.”

He nodded, then made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve had waaay worse, y’know.”  
The room fell silent again. The best course of action, Spock decided, as he watched Jim empty the glass of water, would be to let him fall asleep here. He himself did not need to rest, and he could just as well finish the reports with his Captain in the room.

Of course, Jim took this moment to interrupt his train of thought with a completely unexpected remark: “Speaking of clothes. Did anyone ever tell you how sexy you look in those robes?”

The tips of Spock’s ears flushed green, and Jim grinned. “No, really. How come I’ve never seen you in them?”

“These are traditional Vulcan meditation robes. They are not to be worn at any other time than when one seeks to bring calm to one’s mind.”

“So, what’re you wearing under there?”

He considered not replying. Instead, Spock just raised an eyebrow. “It is not customary to wear anything besides the robes.”

Jim whistled. “Kinky.”

“I assure you, Captain, there is nothing ‘kinky’ about meditating.”

Jim laughed, the warm sound illogically pleasing Spock despite its volume. “Relax, Spock. It was a joke.”

By then, Jim had gotten comfortable on the bed again. He now lay on his side, facing Spock. One arm was bent under his head to serve as an additional cushion; the other was draped carelessly over his side, his lower arm resting on the bed.

Spock waited, but when nothing more came, he returned his attention to the PADD lying on the table, sat down in a chair and began working on the next report.

It was approximately 6 minutes later that he finished, and glanced over at Jim. His eyes had closed, so Spock assumed he was asleep. He looked peaceful, lying there. The thought surprised him, but it was nonetheless true:  very rarely had he had opportunity to witness his Captain so tranquil. It was perhaps with a sense of gratification that he realised there would not be a lot of people with whom Jim could be so at ease, and that he was one of those people.

As if to answer Spock’s unvoiced thoughts, Jim mumbled “Not asleep yet.” His voice was quiet. “I like the sound of you working.”

“Jim, there is no particular sound I make when I work.”

“Is, too,” he argued. “Like, the sound of you breathing. And how it slows when you’re thinking hard. And when it’s quiet, like now, and there’s no engine humming, I hear when you tap your PADD. It’s a monotonous sound, except when you’ve done the thing where you’ve been thinking. Then you type faster.” A pause. “It’s calming,” he finished, eyes still closed.

“Your ability to concentrate on a noise so quiet even when you are intoxicated is fascinating.”

Jim hummed in reply.

“Hey, Spock.”

“Yes, Captain?”

There was another pause. “Nevermind, it’s nothing.”

“Yes, Captain.” Frustrating, illogical human. Spock returned his attention to the report. He saved the file and sent it to Jim’s PADD. He would be able to look over it in the morning, when he was more awake.

On the bed, Jim shifted and opened his eyes a little. “Actually, it’s something.”

Spock did not reply, but turned around to face him.

“You know I like you, right?”

He was not sure if this is a rhetorical question or not, but Jim seemed to be waiting for him to say something, so he supplied: “I am aware of your regard towards myself, and I do consider you my friend-“

“No,” Jim interrupted, words coming slower than before. He was either fighting the urge to fall asleep, or to get the words out. “I mean, I like you the way Uhura liked you. Or, well, maybe not. ‘Cause if we were in a relationship, I would not agree to end it that easily. Just-“

“I assure you, terminating the relationship Nyota and I had was done in mutual understanding, and has not influenced our work-“

“That is so not the point right now. Just let me finish.” At this, Jim sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Look. Just – I’m serious. I mean, duh, don’t you think I could be in someone’s bed right now if I wasn’t?”

“You are in my bed, Captain.”

“No. Well, yeah, I am. I meant ‘be in someone’s bed’. As in, _with_ them. As in, have sex with. But that’s not the point, either. God!” Jim chuckled. “I’m really bad at this. Let me try this again.” He sat up a little straighter and looked Spock into the eye. “I mean to say that I may be in love with you. And I’m not telling you this because I want anything to happen, or because I expect you to feel the same way. It’s just that I’ve never lied to you, and I’m not gonna start now. So now you know, and we can continue like we were before. We can pretend this never happened. Hell, tomorrow I might not even _remember_ this happened.”

Spock regarded him, and, for the first time in a long time, he did not know what to say. In fact, the only time he remembered ever being at a loss for words was, unsurprisingly, also followed by Jim’s words.

( _“Truth is, I’m gonna miss you.”_ And Spock had, until that moment, not realised that he would not be working with Jim any longer. He had heard it, yes. He had understood, rationally, and he had thought he had grasped the concept, but until that moment he had not realised its real meaning. That Jim and he would be going on separate missions, serving under different people. And the thought of serving under anyone other than Jim made his chest feel tight in an emotion he did not recognise.

He had tried to put this into words, had tried to explain a feeling that was foreign to him, but before he could utter a single word, the moment had been over.)

And now the same Jim looked at him, cheeks flushed from excessive alcohol consumption, and waited for a reply.

The same Jim over whom he had ended his relationship with Nyota.

The same Jim he realised he loved the moment he had gotten a glimpse of what it was like to lose him in that radiation chamber.

It occurred to Spock how ridiculous this situation was. 37 minutes ago, he had been meditating; had not wanted to open the door. And now a very intoxicated Captain was sitting on his bed, telling him about his affection for him – an affection Spock had previously utterly misinterpreted, it seemed.

If it had been anyone other than the Captain sitting there, he would have assumed their judgement was clouded by alcohol, but he knew Jim, and he knew him well enough to understand when he was being sincere.

Besides, Spock reasoned, there would never have been anyone else sitting on that bed. Regardless of the fact that there was no one among their crew that would even attempt to come to Spock’s room in the middle of the night, inebriated, no less, Jim was the only one he would have welcomed in.

He had never been comfortable expressing emotions. He did not know how to. Years of knowing he was not supposed to be ruled by emotions, years of knowing others thought him inferior for being different made sure of that.

So what he said was simply this: “I return the sentiment, Captain.”

It was, apparently, not entirely the right way to phrase it, because it took Jim a while to react at all, and when he did, he laughed.

(The sound of course, was as pleasant as it ever was, so Spock did not think it was a complete failure.)

“Seriously? You’re ‘Captain’-ing me even when you tell me you’re in love with me?” He paused. “Wait, seriously? You do?”

“I believe that is what I said.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Jim chuckled. He raised and arm and reached for Spock. “Come here.”

Stiffly, Spock stood up and walked over to the bed. He came to a stop in front of it, and, not knowing what to do, he crossed his hands behind his back and looked down at Jim.

“Not exactly what I meant by ‘come here’, Spock,” Jim joked. “We’re not talking about this like we talk at a mission briefing, okay?” He patted the space next to him on the bed.

Spock hesitated. It wasn’t that he did not want to. In fact, there had been various moments in the past year in which he’d imagined what it would be like to touch Jim, feel his skin beneath his hands. Imagined what it would be like to touch Jim’s mind with his own. But the thought of actually doing it was different. Vulcans didn’t touch each other the way humans did.

“Cap… Jim,” he allowed. “Undue touching is unheard of, among Vulcans.”

Jim frowned. “This is hardly ‘undue’, Spock. And you’re not just Vulcan. You’re human, too. I mean, if you don’t want to, I get that-“

“That is not the issue.”

“Then it’s not a problem.” The Captain reached out, caught Spock’s upper arm and tugged. It wasn’t hard enough to actually move him, but Spock got the idea. The touch tingled pleasantly.

This was Jim, he told himself.  Jim who had called him his friend before, and who had now told him he loved him. Jim who had once said he was “talking to the half human part” of him, because, in his eyes, it had never been anything to be ashamed of.

Spock sat down in the bed, Jim’s hand slid down to Spock’s wrist, where it remained, holding it loosely. Spock held out his free hand tentatively, two fingers extended.

“This is how Vulcan’s kiss.”  It was an invitation. He left the hand there and watched Jim to see how – and if – he would react.

Jim regarded the gesture for a moment, and then, with his own, mirrored the movement and slowly brought their hands together.

The touch was small, but it Spock could feel Jim’s pulse in his fingertips, and it reminded him of how alive, how brilliantly warm his Captain was. Jim, alive and right in front of him, was kissing him.

And with the touch came an awareness of Jim’s emotions for him, emotions that couldn’t be influenced by consumption of alcoholic beverages, and Spock knew that Jim returned his feelings in full. His Captain respected him and cared for him – he’d known that. But to see that Jim held such deep affection for him was stunning.

Warmth flooded him. The knowledge that the man he had irrevocably fallen in love with had feelings for him that ran as deep as his own brought him a happiness he’d rarely known.

Jim smiled then and leant forward, brushing his lips to Spock’s.

A jolt ran through him, but it was anything but unpleasant, and after a second’s hesitation, Spock leant into the touch.

After they broke apart, Jim rested his head against the base of Spock’s neck and chuckled.

“We’re idiots, you know. We could have done that a whole lot earlier.”

Hesitantly, Spock brought his arms around Jim in a loose embrace. “Indeed.”

He felt a wave of dizziness then, and it took him a moment to realise it wasn’t his own, but Jim’s. He moved his head slightly and looked at him. “Jim, are you unwell?”

“Well, duh. I drank decidedly too much tonight. God, for the first time in my life I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want to go to sleep.”

Spock sensed Jim’s hesitation. “I do not understand. You are tired. Earlier, you had trouble staying awake, and I can sense that you are not feeling well at the moment. Yet, you refuse to rest. Why?”

He could feel the warmth of Jim’s breath on his skin when he replied: “’Cause I don’t wanna wake up tomorrow and realise what happened just now is just something my brain made up while I was drunk.”

“It will not be.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’d say if I was dreaming, too.” Spock could feel Jim grin against his neck.

“Then I suggest you sleep in my quarters tonight.”

Jim leant back. “Really, Spock? I’m not that kinda girl. Well,” he laughed. “Actually, I am.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You said you are afraid of waking and not finding immediate proof that this will really have happened. Then the logical course of action is to ensure that you will wake up in a situation where doubt is unnecessary. You would not find yourself in my quarters upon waking if this had not happened, correct?”

Jim took a moment to think about this, and then, without further protest, he kicked off his shoes, took off his shirt and lay down.  When Spock moved to get up and give him some room, Jim reached out and took his hand.

“Stay.” When Spock didn’t immediately move, he added: “I promise not to throw up on you.”

Spock didn’t dignify that with a response. He did, however, return to the bed, hesitantly lying down next to Jim, who moved closer right away and put an arm around him.

“Is this okay?” he mumbled.

“I find that I do not mind.”

“Good.”

The truth was that Spock had expected to feel uncomfortable this close to someone else, especially if that someone was Jim. But the cool body next to him and the quiet breathing was calming. He moved a little so that he was facing Jim, whose eyes had closed again.

“Spock?” he asked again, quietly.

Spock didn’t reply, but he knew his Captain was aware that he was listening.

“I guess this is weird – if it is, feel free to tell me to shut up.” He paused, and Spock wondered if he was supposed to reply. But before he could think of something to say, Jim continued. “It’s just something that’s been bothering me. You should stop that.”

“Please clarify.”

“The whole ‘I am half-Vulcan’ and ‘I am half-Human’ thing. ‘Cause, you got it all wrong.”

“I am not sure I understand your meaning.” He raised an eyebrow even though he knew Jim couldn’t see.

“When you’re not insisting that you’re Vulcan, which is what you usually do, so I guess it doesn’t happen often. But when you’re not doing that; when someone points out your mixed heritage, even if it’s not intended to offend you, you always call yourself ‘half-‘ whatever. And I don’t like that. By calling yourself that, it just sounds like you’re making yourself smaller than you are. And that’s just not you.” He smirked. “And lower that eyebrow of yours. I can practically feel you raising it.”

“That statement is completely-“

“-illogical. I know. Shut up, I’m getting to the point.” His smirk turned into as frown as Jim seemingly tried to recall what exactly this point was. “Anyway. You’re in serious need of an attitude adjustment. You’re too negative!

“In my opinion, you’re not ‘half-Vulcan’ and ‘half-human’.  You’re both. You’re Vulcan, and you’re human, too. It’s not like we can cut you in half and you’d be one half logic and one half emotion. You’d be two halves of you. Obviously. I’m ranting, aren’t I.” He moved a little closer. “I guess I’m just saying… you speak as if you’re neither, but you’re both. One part of you isn’t worth any less just because there’s another part to you, too.”

He seemed to have finished, but Spock couldn’t say anything. He’d known his Captain had never judged him based on his heritage. There was a moment, months ago, when Jim had called him Vulcan like that meant he lacked something. Had accused him of not feeling anything, even as his mother died. Now, Spock almost frowned at himself for ever having been as closed-minded as to believe that Jim – James Tiberius Kirk – could possibly be xenophobic like that. He knew Jim hadn’t meant it. He’d realised that even as Jim offered the ghost of a smile when he’d come back to offer his assistance with infiltrating the Narada, just as he knew that Jim felt guilty for ever having said it.

Spock could feel Jim’s remorse even now while he was holding him. Of course Jim would recall that incident, too.

And Spock, for the second time that night, did not know what to say.

Here Jim was, feeling guilt for something that had happened months ago; something that had been necessary, only because it had hurt Spock.

Illogical. And so kind; so very much like Jim that it left his mind devoid of a proper response.

Because Spock had known Jim didn’t judge him based on his heritage, that he accepted him, but he had, perhaps unconsciously, assumed that because Jim was human, he would prefer Spock’s human side over his Vulcan side, and he had not considered that Jim thought fondly of both.

That, for the first time, he did not have to choose between either part of him; that it was acceptable to be both.

There had been his mother, but he had lost her, and he had never allowed himself to indulge in emotions even around her, because the pressure of his peers had been ever-present, and really, Spock had been a fool. His mother had told him that people did not know the full value of what they had until they lost it, and she had been proven right when she disappeared along with Vulcan, and later again when he lost Jim in that radiation chamber.

A rush of affection surged through him, because Jim was here. He had lost him, but had not lost him, and it did not make sense but was true regardless. And a Captain may not be able to cheat death, but Jim didn’t just beat the odds on a regular basis, he revelled in doing so, and it should not surprise Spock that it was Jim who defied all his reservations and reached out to him – when no one besides his mother ever had – and succeeded.

And he loved this man.

So Spock reached out and pulled Jim even closer to himself before kissing him, and hoped that he could convey all that he was feeling with this touch.

When they parted, Spock pressed their foreheads together.

“And here I thought I might’ve said the wrong thing,” Jim said. “You were silent for way longer than you usually are. That must have been your personal equivalent of an hour. I mean, seriously. I was prepared to blame it on the alcohol, just in case you’d-“

“Jim.”

“Hm?”

“I believe this is where I have permission to tell you to ‘shut up’.”

Jim snorted and then chuckled, and the corners of Spock’s mouth definitely rose.

His hand found Jim’s which he held onto a moment before bringing it up to his mouth and kissing the wrist. “Sleep now, Jim. I will still be here tomorrow.”

And this time, Jim believed him. He hummed in reply and sighed contentedly. It wasn’t long before his breathing became deeper.

Spock listened to it for a while, realising that he now understood what Jim meant when he’d said he liked ‘the sound of Spock working’. The sound of Jim’s breathing and heartbeat was calming.

He didn’t know when, but at some point, he fell asleep, too.

 

(He will question his decision in the morning, when Jim complains loudly about his headache, but blatantly refuses to seek medical help from Doctor McCoy. But then Jim stops whining for just long enough to kiss his cheek, and he will find that his strained nerves are well worth it.)


End file.
